Love Like You
by lunatica00
Summary: Oh, how fickle and sharp one's feelings can be once they experience a newfound sensation. Ask Blake, she would know everything about that. Or, at least, that's how it went when she found out what it meant to love someone, even though she might not have been old enough, neither experienced enough to truly know love, never mind what kind of love it was, as the seasons change.


" _You were you,_

 _and I was I;_

 _we were two,_

 _before our time._

 _I was yours,_

 _before I knew;_

 _and you have always_

 _been mine too._ "

Always, Lang Leav

* * *

It's actually funny how, in a world where monsters do exist and people do have their Aura and Semblances, words _still_ turns out to be everybody's most dangerous power in the end.

For what is our entire History if not a compilation, a recollection, of the dominant stories, which its storyteller — always the victors — would spread throughout every land beneath our skies to every being above our waters?

Oh, but being an avid reader prepared Blake well enough for this putrid truth. After all, she was nothing if not well versed in the ways of power, manipulation and control; words being always their main conductor.

She was not prepared, however, for these kind of, sort of, somewhat new effects they evoked in her. Such simple, trivial words put together to form an infinitesimal sentence that still held unmeasurable capacity to break her and put her together in the blink of an eye. And every time Yang would do _that_ , because, yeah, it looked now like it became her personal, favorite hobby — doing this to her with a disturbing high frequency —, she would become just the tiniest little bit less haunted.

 _Not just for you, but for the people you care about._

Sure, she knew how every word played its own part in the full extent of every vernacular, had its own magnitude and significance to bring the universe inside and outside each of us come to life, when expressing yourself to someone else and only then making it possible to share, thus exist in collective. That's how important they were. That's _also_ why it was important to read every action with caution, within its context, or else, let's just say, a stanza in a poem, for an example, might end up meaning something that it really doesn't when you actually take a glance at the whole painted canvas. Or why it was of immeasurable importance to give objects its proper name, its very own word.

Or else you might end up just like Blake: dumbfounded, dazedly staring at the retreating figure of her best friend while Yang made a show out of climbing the stairs.

Look at her go, she just… _adored_ her _so_ much. She was just so grateful for everything she's learned and have been shown to in these months she's been here at Beacon. If only Yang knew that, if only she herself knew what made her so special in the eyes of her friend, so deserving of this ever unflickering wildfire that was Yang's love… then Blake could begin to be half of what Yang thinks of her. She would be able to do just about anything, maybe even learn how to love her own shattered self again, just like Yang did.

No, but seriously now, how could someone make a simple movement such as that an affair of such marvellous allurement? Those hips slowly, subtly moving up and down until they no longer could be seen by enraptured, charmed eyes.

Blake swore to herself that she would give anything, _anything_ , right about now to have even the slightest glimpse in her partner's mind if it would help enlighten her as to what it was Yang was currently feeling. Because she was sure she couldn't, for the life of her, figure out what she, herself, was experiencing at this moment.

For the first time in days — no, scratch that, in months (maybe even years) — she felt a warmth so… pure inside her. At first it was like her heart was being squeezed, but then like the pressure was gone and suddenly a wave of the most delicious current of electric heat was dispersed throughout her entire body, leaving shivers in its wake. Blake felt that she was being ignited back to a clear state of mind.

So right after this otherworldly burst of exquisite feelings, it immediately came to her attention how she had spent the last several, previous days.

The regret that surfaced in face of the these memories gnawed at her — all the crude remarks, alienation and misguided sense of responsibility, along with the disappointing reality of a broken promise dancing at the forefront of her mind.

Because now, truly seeing the way Yang just acted — asking her, and probably inwardly wondering as well when Blake would _really_ come back to them after their last encounter with Torchwick —, going as far as to reveal such personal, undoubtedly painful remembrances of her past _just_ to _try_ and get her to see reason when Blake herself wouldn't disclose a single thing about her past just last semester…

Blake always thought she might be bad, but now? Now she was sure that it was, indeed, true. Yang, to her, was just so good, and… she's nothing like her. But the remorse weighting her shoulders faded away as soon as she realized she could and _would_ immediately work on remedying the situation, an idea coming to her mind right then.

If she could even begin to do something that does right by _her_ , oh how she would grab and hold on to this opportunity (just as she intended to do) as if it was her lifeline.

And for all she knew right now, it might as well be. After all, she _didn't_ know how to properly name these peculiar feelings, therefore not knowing how to accurately identify and subsequently understand them.

Well, first of all she would need to get a decent sleep.

And when she saw her _friend_ that night, how seemingly no lone word would, or ever could, be able to describe the way she looked, specially appearing as shook as she did by how (little) long it took, Blake short-circuited right then and there, vowing that she could really do about anything.

Even learn how to love like Yang did.

And maybe, someday, equally love herself like her.


End file.
